


He's with me

by destielmao



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Badass!Cas, Character Death, Fluff, M/M, Supernatural AU - Freeform, college age sam, hospital stuff, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:03:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9357170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielmao/pseuds/destielmao
Summary: Dean's drinking alone. Which is never good. Luckily, his guardian angel must be around.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter one is not the end of the story, I know exactly what's going to happen next and I'll update in a few days. Until then, this chapter serves as a cute little one shot. Comments are always appreciated!

Dean sighed, then gagged at the smell of whiskey that had come out of his mouth. He was not in the best mood. His little brother had gone off with some blonde and left him alone with his purple nurples - a series of shots followed by a number of drinks, which he had drunk with increasing enthusiasm, much to the joy of the bartender. Now he was drunk, pissed off and his head was throbbing with his heartbeat. "Okay, time to go back to Sam's place" he grunted to himself as he heaved his body off the bar stool and immediately collapsed - right onto a guy. "My bad, my bad, never mind me..." he muttered with a slur which even annoyed himself. He looked up to see a pair of blue eyes staring back at him, then pulled himself back to see the rest of the (sober) guy he'd fallen into. And wow, what a guy.   
At least Sam's height, with a bicep the size of Texas on each arm. Fucking terrifying. "Whadd'ya say to me?" The guy demanded, glowering down at Dean. "Uh...sorry, man...I dont want no trouble now..." Dean laughed nervously and clambered his way to full height. He was still a good 3 or 4 inches shorter than this bull of a man, though. They stared at each other for a few seconds, Dean praying that he wouldn't get into a fight this drunk, the man sizing Dean up. Dean broke the stare in order to glance around for an exit and decided the safest route was just behind the monster truck man. He counted to 3 and made a wobbly dash for it, trying to hold back vomit. He barely made it a few steps before he felt a huge impact in his chest. Fuck.  
Dean had been in fights before, sure. But it was always evenly matched, and Dean's hot temper usually initiated it and gave him the upper hand. But he was not ready, nor in the state, to fight this guy. He flew back and crashed into a chair. He scrabbled up and attempted to throw a punch or two of his own before another blow arrived from his opponent. Dean was well and truly fucked now. He cursed at himself before making a feeble reach for the man's nose - his hand didn't even reach. Dean was a strong guy. But he dealt with cars, not people.   
After a second too long without pain he looked up and saw - he wasn't sure what it was he saw. The man, the monster truck, pissed off, Texas-bicep man was floored...by that little guy? Every time he struggled, this newcomer kicked his head back down or physically flung him back into place. Dean couldn't help but stare. What the hell was going on? The bartender, a scrawny 21 year old, had long ago scuttled off to search for his superior, and now - finally - he came back with a much more intimidating looking guy dressed in black. He approached the man who had beaten the shit out of Dean and gave him a look scarier than biceps the size of the entire country. "Out." He hissed. And out went the other guy, scowling and kicking over a chair.  
Dean didn't realise he was still staring from his spot at the floor until his saviour looked his way. Oh. He almost laughed at himself for thinking the other dude's eyes were blue. "Need a hand?" The guy asked him in a voice so deep it could be a growl, standing with his hands awkwardly by his sides as if he'd never learned what to do with them. Dean said nothing and got up by himself. Now he could get a better view at this odd man, he saw that he really wasn't that little, just an inch or two smaller than himself. His dark hair was ruffled and crinkled in a way that made Dean believe it was permanently like that, and he wore a long tan trenchcoat dirty with freckles of blood and grass stains.   
"Uh...thanks, man" Dean remembered to say, eyes still on the other guy's. "You're welcome" he replied, "I don't usually...I swear I'm usually very peaceful." Dean let out a laugh. "No, seriously, dude. You must be my guardian angel or something. You really saved me there. Let me at least buy you a drink or something." They turned towards the bar and Dean called over three shots of whiskey and a beer. "Castiel." Dean turned towards the man, who had just spoken. "Huh?" he asked. "My name is Castiel." He repeated softly. "Nice to meet you, Cas. I'm Dean." Came his reply, followed by a calloused and warm handshake that lasted just a second too long.  
Castiel and Dean drank together until early in the morning, when Dean received a text from his brother asking him why the door was locked and he better not be asleep because Sam refused to crash with his neighbour yet again. "Man, I gotta go" slurred Dean, and put a hand on Cas' forearm. "Let me add my number to your phone, yeah?" Castiel took a second to focus his eyes before informing Dean that he'd forgotten his phone in his apartment and had no way to add him. "We can do this old-fashioned then" Dean said, grabbing the marker from the bartender's shirt pocket and pulling Castiel's hand towards his chest. On the third attempt, he managed to write his number correctly on the palm of his hand before plunging forward and kissing him in between his mouth and his nose. Castiel let out the first giggle of his life, then wished Dean goodbye. Neither man could keep the smile from re-emerging on the walk home.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel felt like he was floating on the walk home. He felt like he was strutting, ruffling his feathers. In reality he was stumbling and walking in a wobbly line, a smile etched into his skin. He admired the scrawled phone number on his hand, even tracing over the crossed out patches where Dean had forgotten how to spell his name or written too illegibly. A drunken sigh drowsily emerged from his lips and he realised he was daydreaming in the middle of the road. Quickly moving to reach the pavement to his right, Cas tripped and fell over the curb, falling and reaching out his hands to break his fall. He crashed onto the cement and immediately grabbed his shoulder in agony.  
He cried out and yelped in a drunken haze, one arm useless, pain pumping through his veins, the other holding it in place because he could swear it was going to fall off. Looking across the road a ways down he saw his apartment building. He cursed himself for crossing to the wrong side and cursed the perfect boy from the bar for getting him drunk and stealing his common sense. Castiel started a run across the road as smoothly as he could to avoid jarring his arm, his eyes still fuzzy and his mind still asleep. When he was flooded with light, he simply assumed it was a police helicopter coming to arrest him for shoplifting as a 15 year old. Of course, that wasn't the case. When he saw blackness, he didn't have the consciousness to assume anything.

.................

Dean Winchester was hungover as fuck. So really, nobody could blame him for throwing a pillow at his little brother when he was woken up at 7am to a "The phone's ringing. It's for you. It sounds urgent, Dean.". Dean scowled at Sam and yanked a t shirt over his pounding head, squinting his eyes at the light. He grabbed the phone from Sam's hand and, eventually, croaked "Yeah?" into it. Sam watched as Dean's blotched face became groggily alert and he muttered some replies into it which didn't make sense without knowing what was asked. "I'm on my way." Dean paused before looking up at Sam. "We need to go the hospital. You're driving."  
When they arrived, Dean wanted to run to the sign-in desk but felt he would throw up if he moved any faster than walking pace, so stumbled to the man behind the computer screen as fast as his stomach would allow. "Dean Winchester, Dean for a John D-" he was cut off by a doctor who had overheard his name. "Dean?" She asked. Dean nodded a reply. "Come with me, please. He's in room 401." She lead the way into a lift, followed by an increasingly sober man and his brother, who seemed mostly worried about Dean throwing up.  
She opened the door and turned to Sam. "Sorry, honey, we can only allow one person into the room." Sam rolled his eyes and went to sit down in a chair which looked like it was intended for a child under him. "Go, Dean. I have a paper to write anyway." Dean turned back to room 401 and walked into the room. He felt scared, although he really had no reason to be. He stood there, mouth slightly parted, feeling his heartbeat in his teeth. There he was. Cas.  
Castiel looked dead. That was Dean's first thought when he saw him there, his toned tanned body looking fragile under the harsh hospital lighting and blue sheets. "So, do you recognise him?" Dean's body spun around, his vision lagging after. "Huh?" The doctor pursed her mouth slightly and asked again. "This man, do you recognise him? He had no phone on him when a neighbour reported him on the road. Your phone number on his hand was the only contact available. So, Dean, who is he?" Dean took a moment to process her words, before replying "Castiel. Cas. We met last night. He...he's with me." The doctor's face fell. "We thought as much. Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the room now. Mr Castiel is due an operation in an hour and only immediate family can be directly with him for now." She paused. "I really am sorry, Dean.". Dean let out an irritated breath and spun on his heels to go join his brother in the plastic chairs. Sam looked up from his laptop with a look that said 'what's going on?'. "Sorry, Sammy," Dean announced, "we're going to be here a few hours."


	3. The last one

An hour came and went. Another passed, and another, until the sun had gone to sleep and so had the brothers, squeezed into the flaking hospital chairs. Dean slowly regained consciousness at the sound of some nurses nearby talking about a girl whose parents had been in a car crash while on their way to collect their daughter. On any other day, Dean would have taken a moment to pity the couple’s child, a “Celeste Middleton”, but he was consumed by his thoughts of Castiel. Was he alright? He wasn’t really sure why he felt so scared for him, they barely knew each other, but something in his brain told him that he was somehow responsible for him.  
“Excuse me,” he approached one of the nurses, “do you know if the guy from room 401 is allowed visitors?” A small smile formed on her face. “Mr Winchester?” she asked, “Yes…I’m sure you can see him now.”  
Thinking her behaviour a bit odd but not really caring all that much, Dean hurried along the corridor to the room Cas had returned to. He took a second staring at the door, wondering if he should take a deep breath or something else you do before a big moment but deciding against it, and pushed it open. “Um…” he began, before locking eyes with Castiel. “Hi.” He finished, breaking the intense eye contact because he couldn’t afford to look that vulnerable in front of someone he only just met. “Hello, Dean.” Cas replied, before smiling a cute half-smile. Colour filled the gaps in his pale grey face, making him look alive again.  
……………  
Castiel had had an operation only an hour and a half ago, fixing something he couldn’t rememberr the complex latin name of, and he hurt everywhere. He had just gotten into a position where the pain became dormant when his door opened and he saw a doctor he vaguely recognised walk in. “Mr. Novak, you’re awake” She smiled, “how are you feeling?”  
“Fine, I guess” Cas replied, then frowned. “How did you know my name? On my bed it says I’m a John Doe.”  
“Well, Sir, we called the number on your hand there and found a very helpful Mr. Winchester” Castiel groaned. Great - now Dean was going to save him - ironic and embarrassing. “He arrived here at 5:30 this morning and hasn’t left since - he’s been the gossip of the hospital, Castiel” The doctor continued, before leaving with a small smirk on her lips.  
Cas, after taking a second to take in the fact that Dean hadn't left the hospital for 13 hours (according to the wall clock), began to try and recollect memories from last night. Drinking. Laughing. Kissing? Yes. Kissing. Green eyes and golden hair. Freckles and skin and lips. Before he could remember any more, the door opened again. “Um…” he heard a deep male voice say, then caught a view of his visitor. Wow. His memories couldn’t do that face justice. “Hi.” Dean finished, and Castiel couldn’t help but smile. He let out a small “Hello, Dean” before half his face and all his soul were smiling, then felt a blush dancing under his skin.  
……………  
One day later, Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester finally got to speak sober and not in the hospital. They sat together in a coffee shop, drinking teas which neither of them liked but Castiel wasn’t allowed caffeine yet and Dean didn’t want him to feel left out. Cas apologised to Dean for making him wait, to which Dean replied with a story about the time he had to wait a week for Sammy to apologise for stealing his toy gun and he didn’t hold that against him, so a few hours at a hospital was really nothing. Dean apologised to Cas for having to be saved at the bar the other night, to which Cas laughed and told a story about breaking up fights between his brothers all the time. At the end of the day, Dean gave Castiel a kiss, correctly landing it on his mouth this time.  
……………..  
One month later, Cas took Dean out to the city to watch a fireworks display. That night was the first time Dean got to see his apartment, littered with literature and art. Cas explained that he went to every junk and garage sale he could in order to collect things he would never find in a shop. Dean thought this was wonderful. Dean thought Cas was wonderful.  
……………..  
One year later, Dean took Castiel’s hand and inserted a champagne flute into it. He wished him a happy anniversary. Cas smiled. Then Castiel took Dean’s hand and inserted a ring into it. He wished for him to be his husband. Dean smiled.  
…………….  
One decade later, Castiel held his daughter’s hand in his and his husband’s hand in the other. They approached the school gates and watched the blonde braids twirling and dancing away, then turned back to walk home. Dean told Cas that he loved him more than anyone could love another person. Cas told Dean that he loved him more than anyone else was capable of feeling. Both knew these facts, as they told each other this almost every day. Both knew that the words would never need to be said. Both said them anyway.  
………………  
Castiel Novak was 83 years old. His daughter was now 56, and once again her hand was in his. His other hand, however, was empty. He had already spoken to Sam, who he knew this was as hard for as himself, and a myriad of people who could only try to understand. Rows and rows of people sat in the chapel, more than Cas realised anyone could know or care about. “Dean Winchester was a good man” the priest said solemnly, “and now we can all have peace knowing that he is with God.” Castiel gripped his empty hand tight around where his husband’s should have been. “No.” Castiel thought. “He’s with me.”


End file.
